Fragments
by Meep meep
Summary: It feels like the darkness is all there is, and it’s closing in, ebbing and flowing closer and closer, whispering past my hands and feet, gliding through my fingertips. And everywhere it touches, I lose a piece of myself. An answer to Russel T Davies


Disclaimer: spoilers for...well, pretty much everything. Mentions of all Torchwood series, particularly the third.

AN: part of the drabble bomb that adribetty394 encouraged me to take part in because, as I was reminded, what else is fanfic for than to make up for the terrible plot decisions TV shows decide to undertake. Such as killing characters off.

It's so dark, Jack. It feels like the darkness is all there is, and it's closing in, ebbing and flowing closer and closer, whispering past my hands and feet, gliding through my fingertips. And everywhere it touches, I lose a piece of myself. I lose the memories that hold me in this half-place. I've lost so many years already, Jack. Flashes of days are all that remain. I don't remember growing up, though I suppose I must have. It's like one day, I just was. Boarding the train to London, _("anything to get me out of this town")_ because staying with the memories of...someone...some man _(father)_, it was too much for me. And I felt so guilty because I was leaving her, _(my sister)_ behind on her own and she'd never forgive me.

It seems the harder I try to grab the bits and pieces the longer I can grasp what each situation is. I remember arriving in London _(hustle and bustle and noise, and not so different, really, because the memories come with you)_. I had nowhere to live, nowhere to go _(sleeping at a mate's till I find Torchwood, because working at the coffee shop doesn't pay enough for rent)_ but it's enough _(has to be)_ just to be away for awhile.

It doesn't take the pieces chronologically. I've figured this out because there's gaps where there were pieces and I wouldn't have noticed, wouldn't have held on if it just been the formative years first. I can barely remember Lisa, in my head she's not much more than a name and a photo that I know I kept in the flat _(red sundress, even though it was winter because she said there would never be enough colour to make up for how stark Torchwood was. Red floral shoes, spinning on the corridor floors, squeaky linoleum)_. I remember the Tower falling _(pain and fire and fear, crawling through the rubble to find her, to get her out. Why's she so shiny?) _but I don't remember getting out though again, I know I must have.

What I do know for certain is that they haven't quite reached the memories of you. I can still see your face, still smell you on my skin _("the point of a shower is to get clean, Jack" "Why get clean without getting dirty?")_ but every circle is nearer to them. And I can't lose you, Jack. I can't let these memories go.

The time you left, I can't remember what I did with it. I just remember finding you gone, _("How could he leave us? What's so important out there?" "How the hell should I know, Gwen?" Owen: "You aren't the only one he left, Gwen¸ quiet down, yeah?") _and then there's a gaping emptiness before you came back. Maybe that's how it really was, just a vast wasteland without thought or action.

I remember losing them, but I can't remember their names _(cleaning Tosh's blood from the medical bay, scrubbing till it was gone but I can still see the mark every time I look at it. Knowing it was my idea to go to the nuclear site, knowing that – again – it should've been me)_

I know how many times I wanted to leave _(every night since you came back I've looked at that door and wished to God I had the strength to walk through it. You're so bright you burn me, Jack)_ and I know I never did and that's because somehow, you always knew. You knew the words to say, when to take your time and when to rush me. You knew exactly who I was. And you'd finally, finally come back to me _("I came back for you")_. I know I couldn't let you go then any more than I can now.

And I know, without a doubt, that you held me in your arms while I died _("Don't forget me")_ and you promised me a great deal. And I know that right now, you're beside me, breathing for the first time again, just like all those other times _(Oh my holy god, Owen shot him! What do you mean he can't die?)_ and I know, right now more than anything else in the world, more than my name _("This is Ianto Jones")_ more than my life, that I want to be there with you.

You kissed me, before you died. And later you'll say that maybe that's why. A onetime genetic transference _("So we're committing...incest?" "More like masturbation")_, short lived but strong, enough to effect the outcomes. You died at the same time, but you woke up earlier than I will. I can feel Gwen crying above me, can feel you watching me, and I know that I want to be there with you. Know that at least a little of me is, because how would I know that you're there otherwise?

But it doesn't happen straight away. The energy takes time to build up enough to let me pull free. But suddenly...blindness, heaviness, like my body's made of rock, weighing me down, suffocating in the black grasp of whatever's clinging to me...struggling, weight lifting _("I thought you said Harkness had already left!" "Number 14 is moving!")_ And I can see them rushing towards me. Gave the soldiers quite a shock (gave myself a bigger one) and I'm looking everywhere but I can't see you.

But then you come out from the waiting room, the old canteen in the front foyer and you look at me like I'm a miracle. And every memory I have (had?) is back and I'm so glad, Jack that I never lost the most important ones. I never lost you.


End file.
